Chapter 186

Aiden

If I didn’t like one bit of William Hart’s magnanimous concessions—his heroic interventions, his lawyer tricks, the way he paraded his power and generosity—I was fucking enraged to hear about his warning to Noah.

His gifts were shackles. His favors, traps.

And his threats? I wanted to shove every single one up his smug, polished ass.

But rage didn’t fix anything. Not yet. We had to swallow our pride and stay careful. One wrong move and everything we’d built—his future, his safety, us—could collapse.

When Noah showed up that night, still shaken but burning with adrenaline, I didn’t waste time pretending to be rational. I pulled him straight into my arms.

He kissed me hard, breathless, urgent, like he needed proof I was real. “He knows,” he murmured against my lips. “I saw it in his eyes.”

“I know, baby.” My voice came out rough. “And that’s exactly why we need to slow down.”

He drew back slightly, eyes wide, hurt flickering there. “You want to stop seeing each other?”

“No,” I said, catching his face between my palms. “Not stop. Just… not get reckless. Not until after the Bowl. Once your contract is signed, your initial cash bonuses flowing, and your family’s situation finalized in court, we can breathe again. But right now, William’s watching every move we make.”

He swallowed, jaw tight. “You really think he’d—”

“I think he’s the kind of man who destroys what he can’t control,” I said flatly. “And I’m not giving him a reason to come for you. Not yet.”

His hand slid up my chest, clutching at my shirt. “I hate this.”

“I know.” I kissed him again, slower this time, letting the heat bleed into something softer. “We’ll get through it, Noah. You focus on the Bowl, on your offers. Let me handle the rest.”

He nodded, lips brushing mine with every word. “And after that?”

“After that,” I whispered, tracing my thumb along his jaw, “he won’t have a hold on you anymore. If he makes the video public and things go down, we will make it on our own. You’ll be free. We both will.”

He kissed me again, desperate and tender, our foreheads pressed together, breaths tangled.

“Until then,” I murmured, “we stay careful. Quiet. But you remember this, baby boy—”

I tilted his chin up, meeting his gaze. “No contract, no threat, no power he’s got will ever change what we are.”

He smiled faintly, the kind that hurt to look at because it was too full of faith.

And as I kissed him again, slow and deep, I knew that was the hardest part—holding him close while pretending patience was enough.

He left in the middle of the night, like always.

No lights, no noise, no trace he’d ever been here.

The familiar ache settled in my chest as the sound of his motorcycle faded down the street. It was the only way—the only safe way—but every time that engine disappeared into the dark, it felt like tearing off a piece of myself.

That last week, we barely saw each other. A few stolen minutes between practices, a couple of texts, a brush of fingers in passing that had to stand in for everything we couldn’t say.

We’d agreed. No more risks. No more chances.

Just discipline, focus, control.

He threw himself into the game. I watched him do it—hours on the field, the weight room, the film sessions. It was like watching a storm contained in human form. Every drop of anger, fear, longing—it all went into football.

And it had to.

The Bowl wasn’t just another match. It was the game.

National broadcast. Millions watching. Scouts in every corner, pens poised, careers being made or broken in a single play. For Noah, it meant everything—the future we’d been building, the freedom we were clawing toward.

Pressure didn’t begin to cover it.

He carried not just the weight of expectation, but of redemption. His mother’s safety, his sister’s future, our plans to escape William’s orbit—it all rested on how he performed that night.

He was the rising star, the face everyone wanted a piece of.

But to me, he was still the boy who left my bed before sunrise, with my scent on his skin and my name in his whisper.

By the time the week finally burned out, the day of the Bowl arrived like a promise—and a threat.

The team flew out that morning, a blur of press flashes, camera crews, and questions shouted from every angle. Reporters were lined up outside the terminal, microphones out, faces glowing under the California sun. The noise was deafening, the kind of chaos that used to thrill me. Now, it only made me think of how fragile everything really was.

For most of these boys, it was the biggest moment of their lives. The stadium. The crowds. The smell of fresh turf and victory before it even began. And God, they all looked ready for it. Focused. Untouchable. Especially my baby boy.

The Harts arrived that afternoon—William, Lexie, and even Margaret and Emily. All smiles, all family pride, front-row tickets to their golden boy’s final act before the draft. The perfect picture for every camera.

No one had the faintest idea that behind all the celebrations, Noah and I had already planned our own hotel room—champagne chilling in a silver bucket, room service lined up, a private jacuzzi waiting.

Our small, secret honeymoon.

Probably our last night together before we could finally be free.

We were so damn close to the finish line.

Just one game.

But everything changed the moment William announced his “surprise” to the family during lunch.

I saw it before Noah even reached me—something tight in his shoulders, a strained smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The kind of look that told me he was forcing the world to believe he was fine.

From that point to the moment we reached the stadium, we didn’t have a single instant alone, yet he finally managed to find a sliver of privacy behind the loading dock, near the tunnel entrance where staff passed in and out. The noise of the crowd was a dull roar in the distance. The perfect place for secrets.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice low.

He blew out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “He’s done it again. William. He—” He swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward the corridor. “He rented a damn mansion here in the city. Said it’s to celebrate our ‘journey’ and the family’s first event together.”

I felt the muscles in my jaw lock. “What?”

“Yeah.” His laugh was hollow. “Apparently, this is our official family celebration. Everyone’s in it—Lexie, my mom, Emily, his entire goddamn clan. A fancy dinner, a party and an entire festive weekend to celebrate a victory I haven’t even gotten yet!”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I tried, Aiden,” he whispered, voice breaking on the edge of his control. “I told him the team had plans after the game, that there’d be press, curfews—anything. But he got angry. He looked at me like he knew. Like he was daring me to defy him.”

For a second, the fury burned so bright I couldn’t see straight. My hands itched to hit something, break something—that man.

Instead, I caught Noah’s face between my palms, forcing him to look at me. “Shh… I know, baby, it’s okay. Listen to me. No guilt, no fear. You go out there, and you play the best damn game of your life. You win for them. For yourself. For us. This time more than ever.”

His eyes shimmered, torn between anger and heartbreak. “And after?”

“After,” I said, my voice steady, unshakable, “we’ll find a way to celebrate, even if it’s five stolen minutes in a hallway. I swear it, Noah. We’ll have our moment.”

He nodded, jaw set, eyes fierce again. Then—because we were both too far gone to stop—he leaned forward.

The kiss was reckless, raw, nothing careful about it. His hand gripped my shirt; mine sank into his hair. The world could’ve burned down around us and I wouldn’t have noticed.

When we finally tore apart, breathless, I whispered, “Now go. Win this thing.”

He took a step back, eyes still locked on mine. “Yes, Coach.”

And with that promise, I sent him away to recreate history and that miracle run that had crowned him a legend once.